Jed, the Poorhouse Boy. Alger Horatio Jr.

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      AN EXCITING CONTEST

      Jed was not mistaken.

      When he returned to the poorhouse supper was ready, and Mr. and Mrs. Fogson were waiting for him with sour and angry faces.

      "Where have you been?" demanded Fogson.

      "Absent on business," announced Jed coolly.

      "Don't you know that your business is to stay here and work?"

      "I have been working all day."

      "No, you haven't. You have been to the village."

      "I had a good reason for going."

      "Why didn't you ask permission of me or Mrs. Fogson?"

      "Because there wasn't time."

      "You are two minutes late for supper. I've a good mind to let you go without," said Mrs. Fogson.

      "It wouldn't be much of a loss," answered Jed, not looking much alarmed.

      "You are getting more and more impudent every day. Why do you say there wasn't time to ask permission to leave your work?"

      "Because the runaway horse wouldn't stop while I was asking."

      "What runaway horse?" demanded Fogson with sudden interest.

      "While I was splitting wood I saw Dr. Redmond's wife being run away with. She looked awfully frightened. I ran out to the bend and stopped the horse. Then she wanted me to drive her home, for she was afraid he would run off again."

      "Is that so? Well, of course that makes a difference. Did she give you anything?"

      "Now it's coming," thought Jed.

      "Yes," he answered.

      "How much?" asked Mr. Fogson with a greedy look.

      "A dollar."

      "Quite handsome, on my word. Well, hand it over."

      "What?" ejaculated Jed.

      "Give me the dollar!" said Fogson in a peremptory tone.

      "The dollar is mine."

      "You are a pauper. You can't hold any property. It's against the law."

      "Is it? Who told you so?"

      "No matter who told me so. I hope I understand the law."

      "I hope I understand my rights."

      "Boy, this is trifling. You'd better not make me any trouble, or you will find yourself in a bad box."

      "What do you want to do with the dollar?"

      "None of your business! I shall keep it."

      "I have no doubt you will if you get it, but it is mine," said Jed firmly.

      "Mrs. Fogson," said her husband solemnly, "did you ever hear of such perverseness?"

      "No. The boy is about the worst I ever see."

      "Mr. Fogson," said Jed, "when Mr. Avery was here I had money given me several times, though never as much as this. He never thought of asking me for it, but always allowed me to spend it for myself."

      "Mr. Avery and I are two different persons," remarked Mr. Fogson with asperity.

      "You are right, there," said Jed, in hearty concurrence with the speaker.

      "And he was very unwise to let you keep the money. If it was five cents, now, I wouldn't mind," continued Mr. Fogson with noteworthy liberality. "But a dollar! You couldn't be trusted to spend a sum like that properly at your age."

      "I am almost sixteen," said Jed significantly.

      "No matter if you are. You are still a mere boy. But I don't propose to waste any more words. Hand over that money!"

      Jed felt that the critical moment had come. He must submit to a flagrant piece of injustice or resist.

      He determined to resist.

      He met Fogson's glance firmly and resolutely, and uttered but two words: "I won't!"

      "Did you ever hear such impudence, Mrs. Fogson?" asked her husband, his face becoming red and mottled in his excitement.

      "No, Simeon, I didn't!" ejaculated Mrs. Fogson.

      "What shall I do?"

      "Thrash him. It's the only way to cure him of his cantankerous conduct."

      Jed was of good height for his age, and unusually thickset and strong. Though poorhouse fare was hardly calculated to give him strength, he had an intimate friend and school companion on a farm near by whose mother often gave him a substantial meal, so that he alone of the inmates of the poorhouse could afford to be comparatively indifferent to the mean table kept by the managers.

      Jed was five feet six, and Simeon Fogson but two inches taller. Fogson, however, was not a well man. He was a dyspeptic, and frequently indulged in alcoholic drinks, which, as my young readers doubtless know, have a direct tendency to impair physical vigor.

      "Get me the whip, Gloriana," said Mr. Fogson fiercely, addressing his wife by her rather uncommon first name. "I will see whether this young upstart is to rule you and me and the whole establishment."

      "I don't care about ruling anybody except myself," said Jed.

      "You can't rule yourself. I am put in authority over you."

      "Who put you in authority over me?" asked Jed defiantly.

      "The town."

      "And did the town give you leave to rob me? Answer me that!"

      "Did you ever hear the like?" exclaimed Mrs. Fogson, raising her arms in almost incredulous surprise.

      By this time Mr. Fogson had the whip in his hand, and with an air of enjoyment drew the lash through his fingers.

      "Take off your coat!" he said.

      "I would rather keep it on," replied Jed undauntedly.

      "It won't do you any good. I shall strike hard enough for you to feel it even if you had two coats on."

      "You'd better not!" said Jed, eyeing Mr. Fogson warily.

      "Are you going to stand the boy's impudence, Simeon?" demanded his wife sharply.

      "No, I'm not;" and Simeon Fogson, flourishing the whip, brought it down on Jed's shoulders and back.

      Then something happened which took the poorhouse superintendent by surprise. Jed sprang toward him, and, grasping the whip with energy, tore it from his grasp, and with angry and inflamed face confronted his persecutor. Mr. Fogson turned pale, and looked undecided what to do.

      "Shall I hold him, Simeon?" asked his wife venomously.

      "No; I'm a СКАЧАТЬ